My Grandmother's Legacy
by J. Dawnwolf
Summary: Galadriel's story, being told by Arwen: Galadriel's part in the shaping of the history of Endor, MiddleEarth. Two viewpoints, one post War of the Ring, the other greatly beforehand. Epic in scope, telling much history. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – Goodness, how long has it been since I was last on here, then? And longer since I've done a multi-chapter fic, I'll warrant. Anyway, I'm back, and this is going to open with quite a lot of notes. I'm writing this because it's about time that Galadriel got some credit for her role in the shaping of the ages, but part of the reason that many people don't know her story is that it is so damn difficult to track down. The details of this are correct as far as I know, including names, descriptions and chronology – but perhaps not according to the film. I rely on books, the words of Tolkien himself. It is very wordy and might seem to take a while to get started. With all that out of the way…**

**Dedicated to nimblnymph, another Galadriel fan whose fics made me want to write again.**

**Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I do not own Lord of the Rings or any associated characters. You have been told. The only OCs of mine are the characters of the Princesses.**

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It had been so many years now since the War of the Ring. What was it that would soon be approaching, the fiftieth anniversary, the year 49 of the Fourth Age? So long for humans, so long that even now there were children two generations distant from the time of the War of the Ring. Soldiers who had fought that war were now veterans rather than just survivors. The humans were already growing used to their new peace.

The Evenstar stood at the crest of the city of Minas Tirith, the plains spread out beneath her green and lush again. They had not been so perfect at the time of her coronation. A slight breeze stirred her hair from her shoulders and she turned to face it, the cool wind off the mountains more like that which had caressed her elven homelands. For a brief moment the profile of her beautiful face was visible to the guards behind her. They knew, though they could not at that moment see, that her eyes with the stars within them would still have that ancient sadness as well as their more recent brightness.

Once an elven princess, now a human Queen. Arwen Undómiel had given up her always in order to gain her everything.

"Suilaid!"

Arwen looked round fully, turning away from the plains, and smiled. "Thronghene!" She called in reply, her voice bright on the air, but kept her arms folded in front of her. The wind brushed over her hair again, lifting it slightly from her back. "You have returned!"

Thronghene was the eldest of the three daughters whom Arwen had borne Aragorn and so far the fairest of face. The slight tempestuous hint of human nature in her was a fine counterpoint to the elven calm of her older brother Eldarion, though in looks and wit they owed equal merit to the elves. Aged just seventeen, she was already intelligent and strong, and though not exceptional in an elven sense had far outstripped the performance of her human peers. Her current love was riding, and she had been out for a good deal of the morning before this unhastened return.

Arwen embraced her eldest daughter with that same smile, though it was nothing to the one on the Princess's face. Clearly she had been out-riding the guard again on her new horse, bred out of the purest Rohan stock which now remained. The high colour in her sculpted cheeks was enough to vouch for this same explanation.

"Are your guard escort also returned?"

"Oh yes, I met with them at the gates." Thronghene showed no sign of chagrin at the question which showed how well her mother was aware of her disregard for formalities. It was one which was common enough by now. "I did not outpace them by so far today as I usually do."

"You have you father's spirit, that is for certain." The smile softening to that of a mother's regard, Arwen touched Thronghene's cheek with one hand. Her fingers were cold. "Come, now, let us be seated."

Thronghene's countenance became more serious as they were seated on one of the marble benches that encircled the White Tree. She faced her mother, wayward hair forgotten though she had been trying to smooth it down, and sighed softly.

"Whenever Eldarion, my sisters or I show some audacity or character, you always tell us that we have our father's spirit. For that matter, everybody does. And yet… I have heard the stories of the War of the Ring, and he is not the only one with spirit. Just because you are a woman does not mean that your choices should go unpraised."

Arwen looked at her in silence for a moment. "Have the knights been using the opposite of such words again, my daughter?"

"No! I mean," Thronghene hastily corrected her outburst, "no, nothing has been said. It is simply that no matter how many times I hear the stories of the War of the Ring, it is always the men who seem the most praised."

"Do not forget the Lady Eowyn Shield-Arm."

"Whose greatest credit is said to be that she fought like a man before the might of the Witch-King himself."

"You ought to have met her; in fact you ought to meet her still. You will not remember her, though you did once. Even now, the strength of her spirit outshines that of any other warrior that I have met, be they man or woman." With a shake of her head, Arwen turned her gaze towards the mountains on the far horizon. "But the War of the Ring was concerned as such that most of the talk would be of men: the Fellowship of the Ring, remember, was all male.

"If you want the greatest stories, you must go further back. What of Lúthien, her love so great that even now it rings down through the ages? Melian the Maia, wife of Thingol Grey-Cloak? Idril the White, the elven Princess whose husband Tuor is the only Man to have crossed to the Undying Lands? Aredhel wife of Eöl and mother of Maeglin the Dark One?" Arwen sighed. "And it is not just among the elves that the valour of women is remembered. Tar-Ancalimë was the first Queen of Nùmënor. Rían, mother of Huor; Morwen mother of Túrin Turambar and Nienor Níniel… do not forget their stories either, Thronghene."

Thronghene had not assented, and was even now frowning. "Long-gone stories of long-gone people, that is all that they are to the people of Gondor if not to me. Stories like so many others which are set before our times began. What can they give me now?"

For a moment Arwen did not reply, her gaze still fixed upon the mountains in the distance. Without even looking, though, she raised her hand sharply just as Thronghene had been about to speak again.

"Perhaps there is a story which I can tell you that can change that," she said softly. "It reached its end only fifty years ago, a time which people enough of this city will still remember, but for its beginning I will have to return to before the creation of the Moon and Sun to the time when the elves were the only Children of Eru upon this Earth. Do you intend to ride again this afternoon?"

"Not particularly."

"Good. For in that case I do have a story for you. The story of Artanis Nerwendë, daughter of Finfarfin – better known as Lady Galadriel of Laurelindórean – and a great proof that too many of the greatest stories of the early ages have now fallen forgotten as the Age of Man begins."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N – Ah, the main body of the story begins! In fact, this fic is likely to follow the stories of both, told parallel, though obviously the great focus will be upon Galadriel. In this chapter I use a lot of names in a short time, so apologies if it is a bit **_**wordy**_**. As far as I am aware it is still accurate, but at this point I am starting to draw on the Unfinished Tales and such like.**

**With thanks to purplehat, who was kind enough to review. Much love again to nimbylnymph, who has agreed to be a beta for me (first time I've ever used a beta)!  
**

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The story of Artanis daughter of Finfarfin is one which must be begun before her birth of even before her father's. In the early days of the elves, when Middle-Earth was dark and the Undying Lands lit by the two great trees Telperion the White and Laurelin the Gold, the story has its roots. It was known as the Age of the Stars, the mot beautiful age that the Children of Eru have ever known, for it was the one unspoilt by blood.

To this land of the Valar had come the Three Kindred of the Eldar, that is the Vanyar, led by Ingwë, the Noldor, led by Finwë, and the Teleri. The Teleri had been led by Elwë Singollo, Thingol Grey-cloak, who is counted among the Eldar, though he never came to Valinor, for his union with Melian the Maia; when he remained it was his brother Olwë who led the Teleri to the Undying Lands, where they remained on the shores for they had tarried too long to ever truly leave the sea.

Our story concerns the later descendants of Finwë, Lord of the Noldor. He was wed in the early days to Míriel þerendi, and she bore him the son Fëanor who went on to be the greatest of the Elven jewelsmiths. But Fëanor's spirit – his name itself meant 'spirit of fire' – was too great, and it came to pass that though his mother endured until he was grown she could then no longer sustain herself, and passing into Lórien, the Valar's Dreamland, her spirit left her body, and so she became the first of the Elves to die and to have her spirit pass into the Halls of Waiting for the End of Days.

For a time Finwë was cast into mourning for his wife, but it came to pass that Indis sister of Ingwë of the Vanyar revealed her love for him, and it was bought before the Council of the Valar, the Gods themselves, that they had requested to marry. It was considered unkind that Finwë should be forced forever to mourn, but also that it was immoral for any of the Eldar to take at once two wives; eventually the decision was reached that by forfeiting her fëa, that is spirit, Míriel had also forfeited her right to be counted Finwë's wife, and so the Lord of the Noldor married the Princess of the Vanyar. And Indis went on to also bear him two sons, both noted for the gold in their hair that was unique as of then among the Noldor people – Fingolfin who was much like his father in appearance and expression, and Finfarfin who was if anything the fairer for the memory in his features and his gentle temperament of his mother's people.

And though between these two there was great love, to neither of them did Fëanor think that he owed allegiance, and so was the first divide among the Kindred of the Noldor created.

In time each of these three sons grew to manhood and each was wed – Fëanor to Nerdanel, daughter of the greatest metal-smith of the Elder Days; Fingolfin to the elven princess Anairë; and Finfarfin the youngest to Eärwen, princess of the Teleri, whose home had been Alqualondë, the city of the swans. She was the daughter of Olwë who had become leader of the Teleri, and was said to be the fairest of her people with the starlight in her hair and the sound of the waves in her laughing voice.

Nerdanel bore seven sons to Fëanor, the names of whom are still remembered now. Maedhros was the eldest, of few words but of quite beautiful form, and with a red hair more unusual in elves than even gold, which he had inherited from his mother's people. The second was Maglor, of great voice and greater skill in the playing of the harp, for which he was much famed amongst his kin. The third was Celegorm, he strongest of the seven both in body and in temper, most easily angered but not easily made a true enemy of. Curufin was the fourth, Fëanor's favourite son for the similarities in features, skills and temperament; he was often known by the name which his father gave him, the very same as Fëanor's own. Fifth was Caranthir, of exceptionally dark hair which harked back to that of Finwë himself, and whose later son Celebrimbor became again famous. The last were twins, Amrod and Amras, alike in looks and temperament, both with the red hair of Nerdanel's kin, and so alike were they that she indeed gave them the same mother name until Fëanor asked that they be different, whereupon she replied, 'Let one be called Umbarto, that is Fated, but let time decide which.'

To Fingolfin were gifted three children: Fingon who would father Erenion Gil-Galad, Turgon who would be counted a Prince amongst Men and Elves alike, and his fair daughter Aredhel who is well remembered for her own dark fate.

And to Finfarfin the fairest, Eärwen bore five children, among them the only one of the grandchildren of Finwë who would see the Third Age of the Sun, let alone the Fourth. The eldest was Finrod, who is widely called the greatest of the Noldor princes for his valour; the second was Orodreth, much beloved of Finrod, who was the most strong-willed of the five save the last; the third and fourth were Angrod and Aegnor, alike in spirit and appearance as if they were twins although they were not.

And then the youngest of the five, the only Princess daughter of Finfarfin, was born some time after any of her brothers, in the Year of the Trees 1362. There was much rejoicing at her birth and her names – both names given to an elf at birth, the father-name and the prophetic mother-name – were talked of throughout the Noldor kin. Her father name was Artanis, that is 'noble woman', for she was to be the last of the grandchildren of Finwë and the greatest, and her mother name was Nerwendë, that is 'maiden of man', for she was destined even then to be as great as any male elf before or since, rivalled only by Fëanor and even not by him for wisdom and for later prudence.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N – Well, this you could say is where the action really starts. I won't blither for ages on this one, don't worry. This is the one chapter in which I may have taken some artistic licence towards the end. With thanks to reviewer The Grey Lady. This will be the last update for a while as I am going away, hence the swift update!  
**

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In the way of all, Artanis grew to womanhood, and the name which her mother had chosen for her began to become clear in its meaning. Even by the standards of the Eldar she was exceptional, for her looks and for the depth and for the range of her abilities.

She was tall, not so tall as her brothers but taller than the Men whom she would later walk amongst, the full height of King Elessar of the Fourth Age. She had the eyes of her people, clear and far-sighted, but even from her youth the impetuousness, the pride, and the lust for adventure that was to mark all of Finwë's descendants save Finfarfin was visible. It was her hair, though, that was to be her crowning glory, for though it was of richer gold than the sun that we now have, it had also a greater lustre in it, a memory of the silver of her mother's hair which did not thin its shine but increase it. And so it was said when she danced beneath Telperion and Laurelin at the dusk when both were shining that her hair held within it the light of the Valar themselves.

Had it just been her beauty that excepted her, her story would have been but a footnote in the annals of the ages. But she was noted also among the athletes of the Noldor, the pace of her feet and her skill in the hunt at first attributed to her brothers' presence but later to her own talent. Though the only swords that the Elves then carried had been firstly for defence against the dark creatures of the early world and then for hunting in Valinor, she took up arms and was adept with them, then unaware of the darkness that they would bring upon the Eldar.

But one more skill had she, and as strong as was her athletic talent was her insatiable appetite for knowledge. She spent much time among the loremasters of the Eldar, for though there was then less history it was more thoroughly remembered. And she learnt all that was offered to her, all of the theory of the worlds that they were able to give, and it can be easily said that still she wanted more.

For all her abilities and assets, though, she was not as perfect as perhaps she believed herself to be. Her valour and her determination were unquestionable, but like her brothers she was strong-willed almost to the point of being stubborn, and more than ant of her brothers she could not be satisfied with Valinor. She dreamt instead of the lands of her forefathers, of Beleriand, and of Doriath the Kingdom of her kinsman Elwë Singollo. And so it is that the desires of the Elves have changed ever and again with the passing of the ages.

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Though it seemed that there was naught but peace in Valinor, with Morgoth banished and the Eldar in the eternal light of the Two Trees, the first ripples of agitation among the Elves were spreading, and they were doing so among the Noldor. For strangely the greatest of them, Fëanor the jewelsmith and the princess Artanis, were destined to be severed in the heart despite their kinship and their shared qualities.

Fëanor as a jewelsmith was fascinated with the play of light within the facets of a gem, and throughout his time in Valinor he spent more time with his jewels than he did with his sons, save those who followed him into the same work. The single feat which he long desired, though, was to take the lights of the two Trees and bind them in one stones, and it was said by many that his idea to do as such was brought about by Artanis herself.

It is said that as one such time as she was stood on the hill Ezollahar, at the base of Telperion which was just flowering, Fëanor caught sight of her and was struck with the light in her long tresses. She had less than a hundred years by the Valarian times then, though that in human years would be looking towards one thousand years. "Artanis!" He called out to her, and came to stand before her and she turned her gaze upon him for a moment. He looked at her in wonder.

"Yes, Fëanor?" she said, but her voice was guarded. He stood before her for a moment longer, and she turned her face away from him though she was aware of his presence.

"Artanis, the noble woman," he seemed to muse upon her name. "Perhaps they should have called you Kaltanis, the shining one, instead."

"I am sure that your jewels would still remain unrivalled."

Fëanor ignored the biting tone in her voice, though it struck against his own pride to hear it. "There is one hue which I will never achieve, Artanis, and that is the colour of your hair in the light of these Two Trees."

"You flatter me."

She did not sound as if she thought that he did, but again it was put aside. "Artanis, you know that there are many who would give anything for one of your golden tresses. I offer you now my pride; I beg that you may grant me one tress in place of the jewels which are far beyond any skill that I may own."

Now she did finally turn her eyes upon him again, and her gaze was cool and hard. "Fëanor," she said, "though both my kinsman and a mighty jewelsmith you may be, my hair will never be cut for you. No, I will not grant you that which you ask."

Fëanor then demanded in anger why she would not do so, and she would not answer him, so that he left in that same angry temper. For her reason was not for his ears, the fact that she had seen in him a great darkness which was the first deep sign of the dangers of Valinor. The darkness, she would later see, had been his pride and discontent, and dark though she saw it in him she could not see the same storm which brewed in her own heart.

Twice more would Fëanor ask of her the same favour, and twice more would her answer be that she would give him nothing. Eventually it was that Fëanor's pride overcame him, and he did not ask again but returned to his smithy and the jewels whose fire he could tame, but already the bitterness he held against Artanis ran deep. And but for their respective pride these two, the greatest of the Noldor then or since, might have been less than the enemies which they were to become.

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In the end Artanis also began to lose patience with all that she had learnt, wanting more and wanting to see the lands of which the original Eldar first spoke of, and Beleriand. She went first to the Vanyar, the people of her grandmother Indis, and then to the Teleri her mother's people, and sought more knowledge of the Elves who had left Beleriand. Also in her time she asked of those who had remained, of their names and their purposes in doing so. And she story of Elwë did she hear, and of Elmo his loyal brother, and Oropher of the Nandorin Elves who had turned aside to Greenwood the Great at the first of the three great sunderings. Many among those to whom she spoke had perhaps hoped that they would allay her curiosity, but if anything the ardour of her questioning only increased.

In the end she came upon the decision which no Eldar had then made – she went to the Valar themselves and asked for their permission to leave on one of the ships of the sea-faring Teleri and return to Endor. Upon her asking, though, others began to cautiously come forwards with similar requests, and so it was that she found herself speaking for more and more people before the feet of Manwë himself.

She was not granted permission to leave; no Eldar ever was. But neither was she told that she was bound to remain.

All the time that she awaited the definitive answer to her question, she grew more and more certain that she would be allowed to leave. And so for a while she tarried with the Noldor people, waiting for her reply, until the day upon which news reached her of what was later to be called the greatest mistake that the Valar had ever made. Melkor, the dark one, had claimed penitence at the feet of Manwë and had been released once again. And he had come to the Eldar who had not before seen him, and put on a fair face, and promised to teach them much of what the Valar would – or could – not.

But part of what he taught them was the art of weaponry, and Artanis was one of the few who realised as she journeyed from the Teleri to the Noldor and back that many of the families, not just one or two, were building up their stores of weapons and armour against some imaginary attack. And all the while she could feel the darkness of the place deepening, a void opening up within the Eldar themselves, and she dared not speak of it for many years for fear that it was only her who felt it.

Then another central event to the fall from grace of the early Elves found its way into the annals of history. In what was to be called his greatest creation, Fëanor had, it was said, had taken the light of the Two Trees and like fish in a net bound the light of them into three stones: the Silmarils, who are even now so widely famed. And when Artanis heard of them she remembered Fëanor's angry parting words, and the shadows seemed to deepen before her very eyes, and perhaps even then she knew of the ruin that was to befall the Eldar.

She returned to the lands of the Teleri, Alqualondë in sight of Tol Erresëa, and her mother's people though not mistrusting of her found her words of darkness farfetched at the least. Her wildness grew with her certainly and their unease of her behaviour, and for a time she seemed to fall into a sleep almost as deep as death, and many wondered whether she had been taken as Míriel þerendi had once been. But it was perceived that in her life still remained, and she was spared the moving of her body as Míriel had been moved long ago.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – Mean? Me? Well yes, more than likely. Anyway, just to top off that sudden ending I'm also going to do my first cut back to Arwen … oh yes, cruel. Anyway, enjoy the latest bigger-than-ever chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any associated characters. The section of the Lay of Leithian used was taken from The Lays Of Beleriand, published posthumously in J. R. R. Tolkien's name by his son Christopher Tolkien.**

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For a moment Arwen seemed about to continue, then she stopped and looked out towards the plains again. She rose to her feet, and Thronghene followed her, perplexity written on the Princess's features. She went to talk, but Arwen again raised her hand; the light in the Evenstar's eyes looked more like that of a human than that of one of the Elves. "Your father is returning," she said simply.

"How –"

"Listen."

Thronghene did so, closing her eyes to be able to think more of the sounds around her. For her elven blood she had inherited more than half-elven skills, but her hearing would never match her mother's. "Hoof beats?" She replied hesitantly.

"Well done. Now open your eyes, and you may see them."

Thronghene did so again, and realised that in just those seconds Arwen had crossed again to the wall that overlooked the plains. The Princess joined her, and in the distance the forms of the riders and their horses were just visible as a slight blur of darkness.

"And all of them are returned," added Arwen, with notable relief despite the fact that this was always the case. At that, King Elessar had had only been in Rohan, visiting his good friend King Eomer Éadig of Rohan. He had not been expected back until the next day, but it seemed that he had again made good time in his return. She turned to face Thronghene and again looked as she did whenever Aragorn was near; brighter, more radiant. "Come, we can meet him at the front gates once again. He does not like to linger there."

The gates had been there since before Thronghene or even Eldarion had been born, but she knew they story of their breaking before the might of Grond, and their reforging from mithril and steel under the direction of Gimli son of Glóin of the dwarves. She also knew that her father in particular was reminded of the events of the War of the Ring whenever he was too near them for too long. Arwen had always been in the habit of meeting him there on his return, along with whichever of her children were free to do so.

"Shall I call for the others?"

"Yes," replied Arwen as they began walking. "Eldarion has taken his father's place in the council, but both of your sisters should be able to join us." She turned to one of the guard in passing. "Would you kindly send a message to the stables for the appropriate horses to be prepared?"

The guard bowed and left, and Thronghene continued onwards to find the other Princesses. Arwen paused for a moment, fingers tracing the bark of the White Tree beside her, then looked back over her shoulder to the riders. As always, Aragorn was at their head, his regalia resplendent in the sunlight, eyes fixed on the city as they always were whenever it was in his sight.

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The return to the Citadel was once again that peculiar mix of ease and uncertainty; the King and Queen as always talking easily with each other and the people around them, the two eldest princesses stuck in nervous silence. The youngest, Arnaith, was a law unto herself and always required at least one guard to prevent her from joining the children who were playing in the streets. Of all the children, she alone had that silver-gold hair of the Elven line and her father's grey eyes, a startling combination in a child so young. At six, she was the darling of the family and as silver-tongued as her name suggested.

Eldarion greeted them on their return and fell to talking of the council matters to his father, but it was fair clear that Aragorn had less interest than usual, and Eldarion let his parents depart. Turning to his sisters, he bid them follow him back inside to occupy themselves well out of their parents' way.

Arwen took her husband's arm as they passed into the gardens that surrounded the Houses of Healing. The fragrances of the herbs surrounded them, and beneath one of the bowers they sat screened from the sight of the others. Aragorn removed his crown, set it down beside him, and ran one hand through his windblown hair. Arwen laughed, put her hand alongside his jaw, and pulled him close to kiss her. It was always clear when he had been in Rohan; he continually came back more boisterous and less closely shaven.

"And how was Eomer?"

"Alright, as always. Still spry. And Lothiriel is well, before you ask, and Prince Elfwinë and his wife and son are well." As he spoke, Aragorn also removed his cloak, gloves and gauntlets and sighed, still with Arwen's hand against his jaw. "It is difficult to believe that Eomer is now a grandfather, whilst you and I…"

"Still act as if we are young, that is for sure." She took her hand away in a gentle caress, then reached up and pushed his hair back, leaning their foreheads together.

Aragorn took hold of her other hand with both of his, hands rough from handling his sword but still warm to the touch and gentle. "Oh yes, that will be certain for some time yet. I should also be asking questions. How are our children?"

"Eldarion has handled the Council well, as he seemed to be trying to prove to you," replied Arwen with a slight laugh. "Thronghene has been acting just the same, driving the guards to distraction with the way in which she rides. Arlomwë has prepared another section of the Lay of Leithian, which she intended to recite at the celebration of your return tomorrow. And Arnaith of course was missing you badly…"

"Celebration? I had only been gone two weeks!"

He had pulled away slightly in surprise, and Arwen shook her head with a smile at the look on his face. "Two weeks may seem like nothing to you and me, Aragorn, but to the younger ones it was more than time enough." She tucked herself under his arm and leant her head against his shoulder with a slight sigh of contentment. "Arlomwë is pleased anyway; she had prepared a good length of the Lay, the death of Felagund."

"It hardly sounds suitable for a celebration, though."

"It is a noble section to tell, and she tells it beautifully."

"I never doubted as much. All of them speak well, Thronghene perhaps a little forcefully than she should, but I went through a similar phase myself. Time will improve that."

They both fell silent, listening to the faint sounds in the distance of the guard and the servants in the stables. Arwen closed her eyes and turned her face towards Aragorn's shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her, put his other hand across hers, and turned his cheek to the top of her head. She felt him take a deep breath and then run his hand over the small of her back. "Your hands are cold," he said, his chest moving with the words.

"I missed you as well. And with Eldarion now handling the Council, I was the one arranging the celebration for your return. I should have known that you would not be so predictable."

"Never mind the celebration. I missed you too. But I am returned, and I do not intend to leave again for a while." He smiled to her. "Come, we'll let Arlomwë recite her prepared section of the Lay tonight instead. I have missed having my family around me.

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"A section of the Lay of Leithian, Canto 10, wherein Beren son of Barahir and Finrod Felagund are the only survivors of the band whom Thû had taken and imprisoned, and Thû has in overhearing learnt their names."

A devil's laugh they ringing heard

Within the pit. 'True, true the word

I hear you speak,' a voice then said.

'T'were little loss if he were dead,

The outlaw mortal. But the King,

The Elf undying, many a thing

No man could suffer may endure.

Perchance, when what these walls immure

Of dreadful languish thy folk learn,

Their King to ransom they will yearn

With gold and gem and high hearts cowed;

Or maybe Celegorm the proud

Will deem a rival's prison cheap,

And crown and gold himself will keep.

Perchance, the errand I should know,

Ere all is done, that ye did go.

The wolf is hungry, the hour is nigh;

No more need Beren wait to die.'

The slow time passed. Then in the gloom

Two eyes there glowed. He saw his doom,

Beren, silent, as his bonds he strained

Beyond his mortal might enchained.

Lo! Sudden there was a rending sound

Of chains that parted and unwound,

Of meshes broken. Forth there leapt

Upon the wolfish thing that crept

In shadow faithful Felagund

Careless of fang or venomed wound

There in the dark they wrestled slow,

Remorseless, snarling, to and fro,

Teeth in flesh, gripe on throat,

Fingers locked in shaggy coat,

Spurning Beren who there lying

Heard the werewolf gasping, dying.

Then a voice he heard: 'Farewell!

On earth I need no longer dwell,

Friend and comrade, Beren bold.

My heart is burst, my limbs are cold.

Here all my power I have spent

To break my bonds, and dreadful rent

Of poisoned teeth is in my breast.

I now must go to my long rest

'Neath Timbrenting in timeless halls

Where drink the Gods, where the light falls

Upon the shining sea.' Thus died the King,

As Elvish singers yet do sing.

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

"Mother!"

Arwen turned as she was about to leave, touching Aragorn's arm to tell him to go on then standing aside as Arlomwë, not flushed with pride, trailed through with her two other siblings. "What is it, Thronghene?"

"You never did finish telling even the first part of Galadriel's story. The last you told me was of her with the Teleri, and with the storm brewing. The tale of Felagund's death reminded me; he was Galadriel's brother."

Her mother smiled. "Arlomwë is getting ahead of us; the War of the Jewels was not to pass for many years after the part in the story which we reached. Your father is to meet with his Council again tomorrow after noon; I will tell you the next part of the story then.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N – This chapter is heavily based on about Chapter 8 of the Silmarillion. If there are problems, please point them out (I've lost my copy of the Silmarillion, d'oh.) Sorry about the delay - real life can just really get in the way sometimes! With thanks to those who reviewed.  
**

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

And so it was that Artanis slept, and in the outside world of Valinor the world was changing as the influence of Melkor grew. Fëanor, strangely one of the few who did not trust in Melkor's fair face, became more volatile, and eventually he came to the point of angry words against his half-brother Fingolfin. His behaviour also angered the Valar, who in the end sent him into exile, and he removed himself North, taking the Silmarils with him.

But this made Melkor angry, for having seen the Silmarils he could think of nothing other than them, and he brooded always over their light. All the time he spread more unrest, and weapons, among the Eldar who trusted his charming words, and so the Eldar made themselves ready for a war that they could not yet imagine occurring.

Time passed, and Fëanor too repented; he returned asking both the Valar and the Eldar for forgiveness, and received it. His half-brother Fingolfin embraced him and swore that forever would they be full brothers in heart, and that he would follow Fëanor wherever he was led. The Silmarils he kept hidden away in a crystal casket, and did not speak of them, and so peace seemed to return and it almost seemed that this peace would become permanent.

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

All of this passed whilst Artanis slept, and then she found herself in sudden wakefulness. She had been dressed in white for almost the first time, and so she remained for most of the following ages. There was no-one with her when she awoke, for it was the twilight, and few of even the Teleri could bear not to see the hour in which Telperion and Laurelin replaced each other's light. She rose from the bed in which she lay as if it had been nothing but a brief rest which kept her there, and as her hair fell as far as her knees she twisted it into a knot at the base of head. She wore no armour, but as she left he house she took with her a sword, and as she stepped outdoors and into the sight of the other Eldar they stopped and stared in her wonder. It was later said that in that moment, seeing her with a sword in her hand and her eyes full of fire, that people knew that a great change had come about in her and feared that the change was not just in her, but in all of them.

And at that same moment the sky turned black.

A great cry came up from the Teleri, for only the light of the stars remained, and that was faint now; the light of the Two Trees had disappeared in mere seconds after burning though human millennia.

The Teleri were not to know of what had happened, but suddenly Artanis as if she had seen it all spoke to them, and she told them of Melkor's betrayal, of the taking of the Silmarils, and of Finwë high King of the Noldor dead upon the steps of Tirion. She then fell silent, sword still in her hand, and from far off came the voice of Fëanor carried over the land as he made his faithful promise that the Silmarils would be returned to the hands of the descendants of Finwë. And his sons cried forth that same oath, and the voices of the Noldor swearing the same swept over the land, but Artanis remained silent.

A darkness greater than the shadows of the mountains rushed north past Alqualondë, and such was the evil of it that even those who had believed Melkor's words cowered, and many fled to their homes. And though in Alqualondë there were fewer weapons than among the Noldor, many of those who had swords took them up, hoping that they would be a sign of safety.

The Noldor at the feet of Tirion had scattered, but under Fëanor's command they made hasty preparations and set forth towards Alqualondë. For though the dark one had passed north with ease, the road would be more difficult for the Eldar, and Fëanor desired that the Teleri who were still masters of the sea would lend their boats to the pursuit of Melkor whom Fëanor now called Morgoth, the dark enemy of the free people. But Olwë who was still Lord refused Fëanor his assistance, and as Fëanor's host gathered – they were the ones who gathered the fastest – the jewelsmith grew bolder, ordering his men aboard the ships.

Olwë, standing before Fëanor, again refused; Fëanor raised his sword and bought it down on Olwë's upraised arm, and so it was that the first blood was spilled between Elves.

Those Teleri who were armed came to defend their Lord, and the Noldor too produced their weapons and fought for the ships which they so desired. And Artanis herself rushed to her grandfather's aid, and was possibly the first to lock swords with Fëanor. The Teleri held back the Noldor for some time with the fierceness of those fighting for their people rather than for themselves, but on the arrival of Fingon son of Fingolfin with some of his father's host the Teleri could no longer sustain the fight. They were repulsed, the Noldor won through to the boats, and Fëanor's host were boarded and gone before Finfarfin's or most of Fingolfin's people arrived.

Artanis was found by her brothers when they arrived; she was wounded and amid the dead but still living. She spoke of the Kinslaying, as it was later to be called, but not of her part in it, for she had fought fiercely to defend her mother's people and more than one of Fëanor's followers had fallen to the sword that she still clung to. With her brothers she returned to the Noldor people who were waiting to the South, and for some time was silent as the people argued amongst themselves.

There were those who wished to return to the protection of the Valar and leave Fëanor to his foolhardy quest, but there were those who also wished to follow Fëanor whom they perceived as having made only his flight foolhardy, and that his errand was true.

The bitter quarrel tarried on, when suddenly Artanis stood and spoke to the assembled Noldor, her voice softer now than it had been when they had last seen her and her words more prudent. But still she told them of what Fëanor and his sons had done, of the blood that ran in rivers down to the sea and stained it with red, and of the flash of steel in the moonlight. Those who had wished to follow were not swayed from their choice to do so, and many of those who had wished to turn back found themselves filled with a fiery anger against what Fëanor had done, that same anger which Artanis herself held. And the Noldor too swore an oath that day: to follow Fëanor north and, if it was necessary, even into the lands of the ancient elves, now called Middle Earth.

Though they were ill-equipped and had with them not just men but women and young elves barely older than children, they set out North along the dire shadowed shores with little more than cloaks and weapons to keep with them. And far behind them Yavanna on Ezollahar wept for the deaths of the Two Trees.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N – Again, there is some artistic licence in this chapter with the 'penance' (wait and see). Other than that, this is based on the Silmarillion, so enjoy the next chapter! With thanks to reviewers.**

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

Fëanor's and Fingon's hosts, which were to become known collectively as the First Host of the Noldor, made good time along the coast for the conditions, but the waters were rough and a struggle befell them. As a result of this, the rest of Fingolfin's host and all of Finfarfin's, who together became known as the Second Host of the Noldor, were able at all times to keep them in their sights. Both fled North, the First Host leading and the Second following, then both following the line of darkness that Morgoth left behind him. The distance was great, and neither land nor sea was gracious, and so it took them a great time as Men would now record it.

Still both of the Hosts were quite bent on proceeding, and pushed North through day and night as they had once counted the hours. The land became treacherous first, then the sea did so as well; the First Host were forced to land on the shores of Araman, but they would not relinquish the ships and threatened the Second Host with swords and spears.

Fingolfin spoke for the Second Host, and he asked that Fëanor might bring back the boats that the Second Host may follow by sea which would be the fairer route. The haughty reply came that there was not enough room on the boats and that there was no way around this fact. It seemed liable for a while that the situation would turn to anger. But then there was a voice which carried all of the Noldor below, and the Noldor were struck with fear at the sound of it.

"Followers of Fëanor," it said, for all of them were truly following him in one sense or another, "you who call yourself Noldor, heed this warning. You and your forebears travelled far to be accepted into Valinor; do not now so hastily cast this great exodus aside." And then the voice warned that should the Noldor now continue and leave, they would bring a doom upon themselves that would follow them through the ages. Some of the Noldor cared not for such a warning, but many were afraid, more so than ever as a great thunderclap shook the cloudless sky as the voice fell silent again.

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

Finfarfin's host – his followers, not his children – much desired to return to Tirion, and some of Fëanor's and Fingolfin's followers thought in the same manner. Finfarfin in particular wished to lead his people back there, for though it was the land of his father's death it was the place in which he wished to mourn. He tried to persuade his children to return with him, but none were willing, and he soon realised that one of them was the most resolute upon leaving: Artanis.

He sought her out, and found her sitting apart from any of the others, looking out East over the sea to a coast that was not visible from here. Her hair was loose, and in places there were bloody streaks which she was now trying to brush out for lack of water to wash it. Finfarfin sighed and stood beside her, and she turned to look towards him and dropped her hands to her lap. The sword from Alqualondë was still beside her.

"You are the one who most strongly wishes to continue, or so I have heard, Artanis."

"Yes. I wish to see Endor."

Finfarfin sighed and reached out to touch his daughter's cheek fondly. "I am returning to Tirion, Artanis. My place – our place – is in Valinor. Do not make me lose my children as well as my father."

She looked round, eyes full of sorrow and apology. "I do not mean to hurt you, father, and I never have. But I have no intention of remaining here." She got to her feet, pushing away his arm with her hand, and picked up the sword again. "I cannot remain here."

"Do not make this a punishment, a penance if you will, for something which you believe that you have done."

"Punishment?" Artanis, suddenly angry, whirled to face her father. "What punishment is there for what I have done? Perhaps I should lose myself, lose what has marked me for so long." So speaking, she gathered her hair in her left hand and raised the sword in her right before her father could stop her. "For my refusal of even the smallest gift to my uncle?" The blade cut down and her hair became waist length. "For taking up a blade against my own people?" Long enough to reach the centre of her back. "For the blood on my hands?" This time the cut was jagged, somewhere between her jaw and her shoulders. "Or what about for murder?"

She seemed about to bring the sword around again, to cut her hair shorter still, shear it down and remove all of the hair that so marked her. Her father reached out then and pulled the sword from her grasp, throwing it to the ground along with the curls upon curls of golden-silver hair.

"And how much would you throw away on a shared punishment?" It was asked, not demanded, in that gentler tone that Finfarfin had over his brothers.

"I fought against my people, for my people," the words began to tumble from her lips. "I saved and killed, just other Eldar with swords, just because they had the swords." She reached for her own sword again and again her father caught hold of her wrist. "They are calling it the Kinslaying now, those who were not there." Sudden tears filled her eyes. "The first blood between elf and elf… it will not be the last."

He wrapped his arms around her, and though she did not cry she might as well have done for all the desperation in her silence. "Artanis, my daughter," his voice came closer to begging than it ever had before, "please remain here."

"I… I cannot."

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

Finfarfin and many of the other Noldor turned back towards Tirion and the still-waiting body of Finwë, but none of his children were with him as he did so. The sea calmed, and the First Host returned to the boats fewer in number but harder in determination, and soon thereafter the Second Host turned northwards as well. Fingolfin led them, and on one hand walked always Fingon his eldest son, and on the other hand was Finrod son of Finfarfin and the princess Artanis. Erenion (later to be called Gil-Galad) who was then young never tarried far behind, and nor did Orodreth, but Turgon and his daughter Idril, Angrod and Aegnor and many others who were of great import in the Host spread out among the people rather than leading them.

Eventually as they continued north the Second Host found themselves in Oiomúrë, which was so named for the thick mist and fog which lay across the land. The journey had taken them months, including the camp which had been made after Hanstovánen, which is called in the common tongue the Prophecy of the Doom of the Noldor, but now both Hosts knew that the final crossing to Endor was nigh. They pushed onwards, but again stopped at the point at which the mists stopped. This was the end of Valinor; Endor was nigh fifty leagues away from them; between was Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice, the most treacherous pass which ever has been seen.

Fingolfin more calmly approached Fëanor this time, and again requested that the boats be returned that the Second Host may follow. Fëanor was more wary of confrontation this time, and said that they would later talk, but it seemed that later would not come and so both Hosts lingered.

Then it came that one time that the Second Host were resting with fires for their own warmth and light, there was a sound of wood on sand and the splashing of oars in the water. And Fingolfin and his followers fled down to the short to find the boats already gone, and they then realised that Fëanor had betrayed them.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - Gasp Another chapter on Galadriel? Well, yes, actually. More based on the Silmarillion, this time with the Helcaraxë. It was supposed to be mostly her story rather than Arwen's, after all.**

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"We will follow them."

"Artanis, not a boat remains…"

Artanis stopped and turned to face her brother Finrod, her fair face set with determination and an angry light in her eyes. "We will follow them, my brother. Endor is visible from where we stand; we cannot falter now! We will cross the Helcaraxë if need be to follow him."

At first he went to argue, then paused in wonder as he realised the full of what she had said. "I see in your eyes that you do not jest, Artanis. The way is long and treacherous across the Helcaraxë, yet you would still lead our people by that route. Others have spoken of it amongst our people, but only in brief rather than in full as you do."

Her countenance softened and she touched her brother lightly on the shoulder. "Finrod, you have never doubted me before. Please, do not do so when I say that if need be I would cross the Helcaraxë alone to reach Endor. I can feel that the land would let me pass."

"If you lead, Artanis, I will follow," replied Finrod, taking her hand from his shoulder. He clasped both of his hands around hers in an ancient sign of oath between them. "We must talk to Fingolfin, for he is our leader now remaining, and maybe then we may cross this barrier of ice."

Artanis took to Fingolfin her proposal, and though he too saw the danger he much desired to see Endor and so agreed to lead the Noldor alongside her. The idea was then put to the Second Host, most of whom so burned with anger now at Fëanor's betrayal that they agreed in haste and again cast the Prophecy of their doom if they left aside. And so it was that the crossing of the Helcaraxë would be decided.

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

The ice of the Helcaraxë was a bridge, the only bridge between the two Earths of Valinor and Endor and one which since the days of Beleriand has not held a place within this world. It was a treacherous bridge, which unto then only Morgoth and the dark Ungoliant had crossed, and that at even there own peril. Its ice was mainly fed by Dor Daidelos, the Land of Everlasting Cold at the northernmost part of the world as it was then, but the Valar had strengthened it in the early days as a barrier between Valinor and Utumno, and it was then still dangerous. At its northernmost point it marked part of the edge of the world and was bitter with the chill of the Vista; at its heart it was at best barely passable; at its southern coastline the ice formed great bergs which took dangerously to the sea, towering cliffs and crashing blocks; throughout the whole there were such great cracks in the ice as to form crevasses and from the movement of it came its name: Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice. Such was the path of the Noldor.

Those who had cloaks and heavy boots donned them, and those who did not dressed as warmly as they could, before they set out over it. This time it was but Artanis, Finrod and Finfarfin at the fore, and the other nobility were spread out amongst the people. So with snow in their eyes and the ice around them, the column set out into the whirling darkness.

They made good time for the journey that they were attempting, but Fëanor's Host by far outstretched them, and the straight line which the Noldor took was their best compass against losing their sense of direction. They had often to walk around perilous crevasses or mighty cliffs which blocked their route for sometimes leagues around. Many a time Fingolfin or some more minor leader tried to call for the column to stop, but each time for days on end Artanis refused and Finrod would not stop without her.

Finally, though, Fingolfin ordered a halt, and the Noldor formed a sort of camp upon the ice. Artanis was restless, but this time at least Finrod tried to placate her. "Artanis, be seated. You are acting as if the land around us will fail. Treacherous the land may be, but there are safe places."

She turned to face him, pausing in her pacing movements, but her eyes were still wide and almost wild. "Finrod, this land does not feel right. It does not want us here."

"It is you who said that the land would let you pass."

"Yes – and the rest of my people as well. Pass… but perhaps not in every place to remain. This area is hostile to us."

"Oh, now you talk no sense! Be seated, sister, and calm yourself!" He sighed. "Artanis, be at rest, as are your people. Come now, it is just the darkness and the flight which so affects. Some rest will allay these fears, and then another bout of such walking may even bring us to Endor itself."

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

Though guarded at first, Artanis allowed herself to rest and felt some triumph on the journey that her people had made. Dauntless, they had advanced many leagues in the passing days, and though some wearied most felt still the burning desire to see Endor. Indeed, as silence feel and darkness continued, she found sleep encroaching upon her dulling senses for the first time in many days, and less warily she abandoned herself to rest.

The ice groaned beneath her but peacefully she allowed the hours to pass, unfearing at least for herself.

She awoke to screams carried on the air, of terror and of pain, and rising saw a great white ice cliff that had hove upon her people. Dark water lapped around it, and it seemed to have come from nowhere to split the ice from under the Noldor. There were figures in the water, silver heads against the dark water and dark heads barely visible against it, and around them on the ice were more trying to reach for their loved ones. Rising, Artanis went swiftly to them, and found her brothers already there, for Orodreth had fallen into the water and ice now stood on his clothes and through his golden hair.

A number were lost on that dark night, most to the water but some to the ice as it closed over them; Hithanmen son of Halglîn, a betrayed once-companion of Fëanor and a jewelsmith also; Elwen, the star-maid whose ethereal beauty had oft been well spoken of; Daenel, of stars' shadow, a fair man and loyal; and others still. Many, though, were pulled from the water, and among them was Orodreth, and Idril Celebrindal the silver-haired daughter of Turgon. Quickly the Noldor moved on again, amid flurries of snow and with the bitter sound of tears hanging over them.

They came to a tighter formation, a winding line and continued onwards with a bitter determination, for the thought of leaving behind their dead without rites sickened them, and many blamed Fëanor for it. Had days still been there many would have been counted as the Noldor journeyed on, but in the perpetual twilight which the Eldar now lived in and which the Avari, the 'dark elves' as the Eldar had called those who remained, had long been used to.

And so it was, with much toil and weariness, that the Noldor crossed the Helcaraxë and came unto Endor. More than that, it was just at the moment that Artanis, wearied and saddened with loss, at the head of the column placed her foot upon the firmness of land again that the moon rose for the first time, and many of the Noldor cried out with joy at light in the worlds again, for they found themselves bathed in a silver light that seemed to them like that of Telperion had been, and they were glad.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – This chapter may be half fluff. Anyhow… thanks to reviewers.**

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own it.**

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"The first moonrise?"

Arwen saw the incredulous look on Thronghene's face only after she heard the words, and gave a peal of laughter. "Yes, the very first. I had said already that Laurelin and Telperion had been extinguished. And – as you well know – the moon was taken from Telperion and the sun from Laurelin –"

"Because Fëanor was too proud to allow the Silmarils to be sundered again. Yes, I do remember, it was just strange to think that this passed in the time of my great-grandmother!"

The mortal side showed in her expression, the vivacity, and the smile stayed on Arwen's face. Thronghene's cheeks were bright with the sunlight, dark hair falling loose over her shoulders, something of the story still putting wonder in her eyes. Already the eldest princess knew much of the story of the Circles of the World as her parents could offer it, and still she hungered for more. The Great Tales, as they were so called – Narn i hîn Hurin, the Tale of the Children of Hurin; the Lay of Leithian, the Tale of Lùthien and Beren; the Fall of Gondolin – had all been spoken of to her, but the War of the Ring had seemingly outdone the War of the Jewels for the life that it related to her. Now, though, with the promise of a single story which stretched from before the rising of the moon or sun to the changing of the Circles of the World, she was anew enthralled, and had listened intently through the recount of unmarked time – until time returned, and with it the present.

"I am sure that she too would find such telling of her story strange." Arwen looked over the hall where they sat for a moment, but her thoughts lingered in the golden glades of Lothlórien. "Much of this story I heard from her own lips, though Celeborn also spoke it. There are none left now save perhaps King Thranduil who remember those ancient days."

"And what of the name Artanis? Would she have found that strange, had she remained?"

"I am certain that she would, for it was not after many years that the name Galadriel was first given to her."

Thronghene frowned slightly, her intent grey eyes still on her mother's face. "There are so many in legend who were not known by their birth-names – Galadriel, born Artanis; Gil-Galad, born Erenion…"

"Dernhelm, born Eowyn…"

"Mother!" Not expecting the words, Thronghene could not keep back her own laughter when she heard them, putting one hand over her mouth to try and catch the echoes. "If I were speaking of later years, I would have better said Elessar, born Aragorn, though father has more than enough… what was the word?"

Arwen looked round. "The elven term? Epessë, given-names."

"Undòmiel, born Arwen…"

"Enough!" This time Arwen laughed as well. "But no, the name Undòmiel was my mother-name, the second of my essë, birth-names. All children of Eldar mothers are given two names, one at birth and one whilst still young; you should remember that. Though among the Noldor the father-name, the first, was more commonly used. There were a few who were exceptions – Fëanor, for one, but then he was oft an exception. The father-names spoke with lesser foresight, and thus would betray less."

"Then why must I follow my mother-name?"

"You do not; none of you do," Arwen said, with a shake of her head and a faint smile. "Eldarion is 'descendant of Eldar'. Arlomwë and Arnaith both take the 'noble' in their names from your father, and your name too is from his. Throngil, the eagle of the star, and Captain of both Rohan and Gondor?"

Thronghene gave an embarrassed laugh.

"Even he does not remember all of his epessë on occasion; I certainly do not expect you to." Arwen paused and tilted her head to one side for a moment, though no sound reached Thronghene's ears, then rose and opened the door just as the messenger outside reached it. He paused, then bowed and addressed her as if nothing was amiss.

"Your majesty, I bring summons from the Council; they beseech you be able to attend them."

Arwen inclined her head. "And attend I shall." She turned to face Thronghene with a whisper of velvet and smiled. "It seems that the continuance of the tale needs wait for a time. This evening, if I may, I will continue."

o-o-o-O-O-O-o-o-o

"And yet here you are talking to me instead of continuing your tale with our daughter. Tell me, why should that be?"

Aragorn ran his hand through Arwen's hair as he murmured to her, both reclining on the waiting chaise. She reached up to wrap her fingers around his and draw his arm up her, eyes closed in a lazy ease with the moment. When she did not reply, he shifted his weight to regard her more closely, and murmured her name again.

Arwen looked round with a warm smile. "Thronghene is otherwise occupied. She discovered of your bringing back that blue roan gelding of Rohirric stock, and wished immediately to go to the stables." She felt him chuckle. "A name taken from that of one of the greatest captains of Rohan seems more suitable than even I first thought, or so it seems."

His lips brushed against the curve of her neck.

"She became confused as to whether it was her mother- or father-name. It always does take such explaining as soon as they discover that there are such things." Arwen smiled, but kept her voice steady as Aragorn brushed the hair from her neck then ran his fingers slowly down her arm. "Perhaps some day I will find her mother-name, but even now it is obscured from me."

Aragorn leant his forehead against her shoulder, and she suppressed a laugh at his sigh. "Each of them is young yet, particularly in the Elven years in which you and I are prone to think."

"She is little less than the age that you were when we first met."

"And you said that I was a child then, for all that I proclaimed myself heir of Isildur." Arwen shifted in his arms so that their gazes met, and he touched his fingers softly against her cheek. "I was twenty… the time of being young seems to be a foolish age among we Men."

"And we still have two daughters to pass the same age. Oh, may the streets of Minas Tirith tremble!" Both laughed this time, a soft shared joke, and she twined her arms around him again. Some of the Council had seemed less than pleased with the large family in the halls again after so long, but to many the new life in the castle told of good fortune for the continuance of the line. "Though would it be bold to suggest that perhaps daughters may be less trouble at such an age than sons?"

"I have no doubt that your brothers and I caused fair trouble in between their errands. Even aside from my longing to re-enact their battles, it cannot have been easy to keep a Man among Elves."

"Nor an Elf among Men."

Her voice had softened, and he looked round with concern in his eyes. "I apologise for causing such memories to arise." Time and again she had said that she regretted not one moment of their time, but still he saw regret where she felt sadness. Gently, he allowed his fingers to trace her lips as she closed her eyes for a moment then slowly opened them to meet his gaze again. "Come, the day is ageing, and we had best retire. You may talk to Thronghene tomorrow, I have no doubt, but I have wearied of night as the years have passed."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N – Big and wordy. I do apologise. More than that, sorry for the delay. College has recently started and I am on a very intensive course. A desire to not suddenly run out of chapters leaves me trying to stay 'one step ahead' of the fic. Thanks.  
**

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At that time in Endor there were only two great Elven Kingdoms: Doriath, realm of Elwë Singollo, and Greenwood the Great, realm of Oropher father of Thranduil. But Greenwood was far distant from the shores which now the Noldor trod, and the southern shores of Losgar which in later years were called the Grey Havens was then abhorred to them. For Fëanor and his sons had led the First Host to mooring there, then when the consciences of some of his followers had flared he had ordered the boats burned instead. Dark plumes of smoke carried East over the land, and tall flames licked at the sky, and so were the white swan boats of the Teleri lost to history.

Seven moonrises then passed, and as the moon set for the seventh time the sun rose golden on the eastern horizon and painted Endor with a colour the like of which it had never before seen. The Avari looked up in wonder, and the Noldor in awe; far beneath the earth, the fathers of the Dwarves turned their bearded faces towards the filtering strands of light; the Ents in the great wildwoods stirred their wooden limbs. And in the far eastern land that was to be called Hildòrien, figures stirred and then awoke, and so the race of Men came unto Endor also.

The Second Host of the Noldor paused for those few days on the frozen northern soil, then as the sun rose turned their feet south towards the waiting Doriath. Fëanor's host, more proud and with more time, had already claimed for themselves Kingdoms in Beleriand, though they were theirs in nothing but name at that time. Those that followed Fingolfin, however, were less foolhardy and had stronger ties of companionship between them, and so their first turn was towards another Elven Kingdom. They came to Doriath still clad in their travelling garb, and reluctant were the Elves of Doriath to permit them entry until they heard that the children of Ëarwen niece of King Elwë led them. Even then but Artanis and her brothers were bought before the throne of King Elwë, and the others were left to the watchful eyes of Fingolfin and his sons.

Thus the five were bought before Elwë's throne, and the thrones of his wife Melian and daughter Lùthien, and the King looked upon them in wonder. For once nobility, they were now as wild as their followers, with ice-matted hair and muddied clothes, and the Princes were less wild than their sister. The chill of the Helcaraxë had settled upon Artanis, in her cold grey eyes and proud bearing, and her hair cut short still looked harsh against her face though its raggedness had softened with the time. And though her brothers wisely knelt before King Elwë, she would not, and so in a many unprecedented did she come before him.

Elwë turned her eyes towards her, cool and impassive in the face of her defiance, and each looked into the heart of the other. In Elwë, Artanis saw a stern King but fair, a man who had seen both great darkness and the light of Valinor without leaving the shores of Endor. She could not tell what he saw in her though, for his eyes perceived pride and loyalty together, and saw in her heart the darkness of some battle real or imagined.

"Why is it," he said eventually, the words echoing around the hall, "that your brothers seek so to placate me, yet you have pride too much to do so?"

"I gave up on placation before I had even seen the Helcaraxë," she replied, dauntless.

Again a moment of silence fell upon the hall, and this time it seemed to become much more than a moment. Artanis's eyes moved to either side of the King, again searching. To his left sat a young elf maid, not more than a century of mortal years in age, but already with a great ethereal beauty in her twilight hair and silver-violet eyes. To his right Melian herself, not so fair as her daughter but greater in her power, and as Artanis met the gaze of the Maia awe fell finally upon her and it took strength to refrain from falling to her knees.

Elwë saw the moment but appeared to think not of it. "Your action now, then, is quite a different choice. What is it that you would try in the place of placation?"

"I will ask you directly: let my people cross the borders of Doriath."

"Indeed? You ask that I allow the Second Host of the Noldor into my Kingdom when without approaching it the First Host has bought bloodshed upon my people. They fell upon these shores as wolves upon the fold, and darkness they both pursued and attended." Elwë gestured for the Princes to stand alongside their sister, and wordlessly they did so.

Another elf stepped forwards, a Telerin Prince and the son of a nephew of Elwë, from his silver hair and tall bearing called Celeborn. This news was then delivered to them as their people were to hear it, dark news of what the First Host had bought to Beleriand.

Fëanor's host, so it was said, had landed at Losgar and on his orders turned their torches towards the boats. It was Amras then that had been discovered to be called fated, for the flames consumed him also, and so the first of Fëanor's sons was lost. Then Morgoth had come with creatures of darkness upon the Elves, in that which had been called Dagor-nuin-Giliath, the Battle Under Stars. Fëanor himself had fallen there, beside and before many of his people and the people of Doriath, and even after in what should have been talks of peace Maedhros the eldest of the sons of Fëanor was taken captive, and so a great darkness did befall the Elves.

His story told, Celeborn fell silence, the Elwë turned his stern gaze upon his niece's kin each in turn. "Some of the First Host whom my people fought alongside spoke of a doom upon your people, laid by the Valar themselves for your," his eyes lingered longest on Artanis, "defiance in leaving the shores of Valinor. By your being my kin, I have answered your call for sanctuary, and that alone. No, Princess of the Noldor, I will not let your people enter my Kingdom."

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Years then passed, enough to be heeded by Men but not yet by the Elves. The great rescue of Maedhros from Thangorodrim became known, and Fingon was much praised for it. And as the years of the sun began to pass, so did the Noldor lords begin to seek themselves permanence in their realms, but Elwë did decree:

"In Hithlom the Noldor have leave to dwell, and in the highlands of Dorthonion, and in the lands east of Doriath that are empty and wild… for I am the Lord of Beleriand."

And so the lands around Beleriand were divided, Fingolfin in Hithlum to the west, and Fingon in Dor-Lomin, and in the most western Nevrast dwelt Turgon for many years. And to the East Celegorm and Curufin, Maedhros, Amrod, Maglor, and Caranthir at the foot of the Blue Mountains where the borders of the Kingdom of the Naugrim lay. And it was in his Kingdom that the first tentative alliances between the Noldor and the Naugrim were made, and just as tentative was the peace that was then formed.

Artanis and her brothers remained in Doriath for these years of formation, and many thereafter. The men were treated as Princes, but Artanis's pride did humble enough that she asked to become a handmaiden of Melian and a friend of the Princess Lùthien. She learnt from Melian more lore than had ever been before available to her in Noldorin halls, the passing times of Endor and the ways of magic in the hands of the skilled. Her wilfulness was tempered and her defiance bowed, and as her temperance refined she become more surely the greatest of the Noldor, and certainly the greatest that then lived.

**A/N - Quoted from the Silmarillion. Not my words.**


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – Due to a personality clash with Celeborn (him and me, that is), this chapter is a little on the short side. Apologies. Also, chapters from this point on may be a little patchy, because I am on a very intensive college course.

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The peace lasted for many years, and Men made their journey into Beleriand, and so it was that Finrod came among them and played to them the harp, and the first meeting of the Firstborn and Secondborn was made. But the Elves were often mistrustful of these new Men, and called them the Usurpers, and the Entari, which is the sickly, for they were strangely fleeting. Some came close to Doriath and there settled, and ever since the first meeting on the borders of that Kingdom have the children of Men been in awe of the children of the Elves.

Artanis did not meet with the mortals, but she spoke often of them with Finrod, and found them interesting if a frail race. She spent the passing years in Doriath, a handmaiden of Melian and friend of the Princess Lùthien. Still she burned to have a Kingdom of her own, but a new maturity warned her that such was not to be for many years, and she took upon herself a different life, neither ruling nor truly ruled, and there were few who still called her a princess.

One who did was Celeborn, himself a Prince and a distant cousin of hers. They treated each other with a strange formality, yet it was somehow known that a deep bond was joining them at the heart.

The hearts of Elves are not like the hearts of Men, for Elves when still young can recognise love, and their hearts will ever belong to one only. They enter only once into wedlock, save Finwë High King of the Noldor only. The concept of infidelity is all but unknown to them, and should one die then the other can fade and pass away from the heartbreak, something that has long captured the imagination of Men. And so Artanis and Celeborn drew closer as time passed, but both remembered well the first time that they had spoken, just the same day that Artanis and her brothers had entered Doriath.

She had been the one to approach him, and what she saw drew from her an uncommon admiration. He was taller than she, with the fine silver hair that marked him as one of the Teleri, his eyes knowing. She went to him to speak of battle, for the way that he had spoken of the Battle Under Stars had made it clear to her that he had been there. To her surprise Celeborn would not speak of it, and equally strange to her was the farsighted gaze which was settled upon her, then his quiet words.

"You have seen battle also."

It had been as they walked together through the halls of Menegroth, and she turned to him in wonder. He paused, as if awaiting a response, but for the first time in many years she found herself without words to offer him in return. With a hasty excuse, she bowed her head to him with true respect and left, only to leave the question that he had implied unanswered for many weeks. Finally she returned to him, the first time since that day that they had chosen to speak at length, and immediately it was he who addressed her on the matter.

"Princess, there is much that you have not told; I can see as such in your eyes. You have seen some great battle or struggle, perhaps been a part of it."

Both fell silent and still for a moment in that same corridor, then finally Artanis found the answer both had sought. "Prince Celeborn, as young as this world is there have yet been many struggles. I have stood before the Valar themselves to ask permission to leave the shores of Valinor – could this be of what you speak?"

"No." One word, uncompromising and fluent, cut through the artful craft of her response. She felt herself stare; he returned her gaze with years beyond his age in his eyes. His hand sought hers, his sword-roughened palm touching against her own. "These hands have seen blood, have they not? A darkness more than the Hastànovariën lies upon the Noldor people."

"Never will I back down before tyranny," she answered softly, finding herself strangely lost to his words. "I am not meant for captivity."

Celeborn's gaze did not waver. "Perhaps you use for too many things the word 'captivity', Princess."

His meaning reached her easily, but it was to her great surprise, for she had not expected him to hold her in any regard so soon after her arrival in the land that he knew well. The one who had praised her most greatly to that time had been Fëanor, and his attention had been for the lustre of her tresses; that was cut short now by her own hand, and she did not recognise her remaining beauty. But she saw in Celeborn's eyes that he looked upon her far differently, and even as she looked at him in wonder he caught her other hand in his and bent his lips to hers.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N – Sorry if this seems to wander a bit, but I have had a lot on my mind. Exam results and the like. Anyway, it might still be fit to be read, so enjoy. Also apologies for the delay.  
**

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"And was it then that she first took the name Galadriel?"

"Was given," corrected Arwen, "but yes. Then or shortly thereafter, and what short time lay between was no matter in the eyes of the elves. Celeborn gave to her the name Alatáriel, which was Quenya, but in Sindarin it was to become Galadriel as she was for the passing of the ages habitually known."

Thronghene nodded, thought written across her features. From around them, the watchful gazes of the Guard of the Citadel followed both Queen and Princess without movement of the men themselves. The women passed through a flower-twined archway into an older part of the gardens, wilder and with more birdsong in the air than there was in much of the Citadel grounds. Stopping at the base of one of the gnarled trees, its branches dipping so low with the weight of blossom as to almost caress her shoulders, Thronghene ran one hand over the back of the tree and spoke to her mother without looking round to meet her gaze.

"From the way you speak, it seems perhaps that prudence quenched her desire for her own Kingdom, Princess of the Noldor though she may have been and be still. Yet some intuition tells me that it was not the only reason that she remained."

She turned then, and in that moment was far more than any human maiden. The sunlight swept over her form, and she was clad in the green of summer leaves which is the richest, with a belt of silver but no other adornment, for she neither cared for them nor needed them. She seemed to have within her the same natural grace as did the leaves around her when they danced in the wind; the faint flush of youth in her cheeks was as the touch of hue within the rose, and in her twilit eyes the ageless elven light lay. It was not the tale heard which had bought this look upon her, but a twining of her mind with the very heart of the tale in a way which Men had long tried to follow.

"Indeed it was more than prudence which prevented her from leaving Doriath at that time," replied Arwen. "Her love for Celeborn, of course, bade her remain, though love runs so true in the hearts of elves that they do not fear even many years far separate. Her loyalty to Melian the Queen of Doriath may also be noted. Perhaps it could even be said that she felt the first changes which would lead to the great storm which was beginning to grow, and the darkness which had then only started to descend."

Arwen's voice had softened as she came to the end of her explanation, and her eyes were cast to the ground. As every other elf she had heard the tales, and yet it seemed to her sometimes that her children did not understand the ties between their blood and the blood of the elves who were the heroes of those same stories. The history of both Elves and Men united in them, each tale from the great journey of the Eldar to the War of the Ring. It was true that a greater awareness was in them than would be in most of their age, yet they like so many were detached from the stories that they heard save for isolated moments.

Thronghene crossed and set her hand gently upon her mother's shoulder. "Do you wish to return within the walls of the Citadel?"

"There is no need. I was considering the old tales, not so much the Great Tales but the many which are in danger of being forgotten; there are times when your father would think as such, for he knows of the same histories, and more than that is one of only two still in Endor who have seen within the great chasms of Sauron's mind."

"I find it curious," said Thronghene, as despite Arwen's words both turned their feet by silent agreement back towards the Citadel. "When Father speaks as such, he uses the title of the Dark Lord for the power who was once the Necromancer and later made a darkness out of Mordor. Yet you and some others would use Sauron for name and title both. Why such a difference?"

"Most would say that the race of birth marks the distinction, but in truth the passing years have changed the memory of Men. To most Elves, the Dark Lord would still be Morgoth, and some of the most ancient no doubt still remember the name by which he was first called though no child of Iluvatar would use it now. All those who have my years or more have heard the tales of him and the fury that he wrought, and though few now live who fought against him in battle their memories are long and without fail. But in the Third Age and this Fourth, the greatest danger in the memory of most is Sauron, and so the title of Dark Lord was passed to him even through the different names that he took upon himself."

Her daughter appeared to consider the words for a few slow moments, and her eyes became clouded. "And so, despite all of the suffering of those who dared oppose Sauron…"

"The great War of the Ring was but a shadow of battles and wars long past. Alas, in spite of the loss suffered this is true, for it was the elves who stood in the War of the Jewels before the first Dark King, Morgoth with the Silmarils in his iron crown, and now they are fading. From the children of the stars to the heroes of ancient story and rhyme. So quickly they are forgotten."

Arwen sighed, and her troubled gaze seemed to be fixed on something beyond what Thronghene could ever think to set her eyes upon. Then a hand lighted upon hers, soft but with a strength beyond what fleeting mortality would oft endow that told in both the touch and in the voice which accompanied it. "No, Mother, not yet. We do not forget, and so are not forgotten. In the Peredhil Telchontar line let such change be remembered, lest all too much be lost."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N - Thanks to scarletdragon for pointing out that, throughout the entirety of this story, I persisted in calling Finarfin "Finfarfin". I'll be leaving the mistake up for posterity, however. Anyway, I've found another chapter in the depths of my computer, so here you are.**

The Kinslaying had not been the first of Morgoth's great evils against the Children of Iluvatar, yet as some may call it the greatest it was only so for the darkness which is perpetuated

The Kinslaying had not been the first of Morgoth's great evils against the Children of Iluvatar, yet as some may call it the greatest it was only so for the darkness which is perpetuated. For the first assault of the Fëanorians upon the Teleri was not openly spoken of, yet whispers of it tarried, and this among other reasons had caused Elwë to deny to the Noldor entrance unto his land. The house of Fëanor, prideful and headstrong as were many of the descendants of Finwë, took to mind that they had no need for the Moriquendi, the Dark Elves of Endor, and so a coldness drew between the Elven kin.

For many years, though, it seemed that the Elves had peace, and in Doriath it was the greatest. Under the power of fair Melian, the thralls of the Dark Lord could find no place, and though it took a great time for the Noldor to be permitted to turn their steps within the borders, they had bought with them great knowledge. The runes of Fëanor; the gems of all jewelsmiths with blazing starlight within them; fair songs and lore they bought, and with these also had come weapons, and fell hands in battle, and the grimness in fair eyes which marked all such warriors. But never a word was spoken in all those fateful years of the blood on Alqualondë's shore, and to peace all thoughts were turned as flowers to the sun, save for those who watched the darkness of Morgoth's land and were afraid.

In Doriath Galadriel remained with Celeborn, and beneath the shadow-laden trees they plighted their troth and were later wed. Their years were spent in the groves and glades of the wood, on the banks of the Esgaluduin, or in the caverns of Menegroth. Each of her brothers in this time left the realm of Doriath to claim their own lands: Finrod on the far Western shores, and Orodreth in the pass of Sirion, and Angrod and Aegnor – so close that their lands were often treated as one Kingdom – the northlands of Dorthonion. And so was Morgoth hemmed in on every side by the Noldor whose hatred he had provoked with betrayal, and who awaited still their chance for vengeance.

A handmaiden of Melian Galadriel remained, but in time friendship grew between them. For though Galadriel was yet young in the eyes of the Maia, she was valourous and strong in heart as well as in body. Her thirst for knowledge seemed to remain unquenched, and they would oft speak of Valinor before the dark work of Morgoth and Ungoliant. Sometimes a grim, far-eyed look would seem to pass over Melian's features, and her words would allude to the Kinslaying, but Galadriel would not speak of it. In the end, though, her secrecy was to be undone, for though her brothers returned from time to time unto Doriath, they did not have Melian's protection as did she, and Elwë thought oft grimly of what the Noldor had bought with them to Endor beside their knowledge.

Angrod it was who first of the four spoke. Though his hand had not been raised in the Kinslaying, and even then he did not know of Galadriel's part in it, still his conscience was much weighted at the thought of the stories, and he was wearied. Seeking kind words he went to Elwë, and spoke in mild tones and honest of the Kinslaying, yet a horror seemed to settle on the King, and at once Angrod knew that his words had been foolish.

Elwë rose to his feet, and he seemed terrible and mighty with a grave look in his eyes, and Angrod was suddenly afraid. Thus the King advanced upon him, and Angrod backed away, and it was almost in his mind to reach for a weapon, for in the northern wastelands of Dorthonion it seemed that war was ever present. But the rage which flowed from Elwë was far more potent and dangerous than any which Angrod had until then had faced, and he was all but paralysed with fear.

"And so it is this which you have bought upon my land," said Elwë. "On the wings of the Noldor have come the crows and carrion, and the death of our people at their own hand. No such thing was ever dreamed of in the great plans of the Valar, and here before me stands one of those such bringers of death!"

And Angrod did protest, but his words were in vain, for Elwë knew that the sons of Finfarfin had let the Noldor over the Helcaraxë, and it was difficult to see how they would not have come to arms alongside Fëanor as they had come to the boats. Then with anger consuming him, Elwë cast from Doriath the four sons of Finfarfin – Finrod who had bought to the Men music which they had not previously even thought of, Orodreth a loremaster and poet with many among the other Elves who admired him, and Angrod and Aegnor both fell hands in battle who had bought to the people of Doriath much strength of will in the fight against the Dark Lord.

Galadriel then came upon her brothers preparing to leave, and she was shocked at what had been said, and going to Melian – for she trusted the Maia above the King, whether he be in a mood of benevolence or no – she begged before the Queen for their remaining. And so did it come that she found the humility which she had for so long lacked, and yet in this dire moment it went unrewarded.

For there was nothing in Melian's power that could be done to change the mind of Elwë, and even had she been able to it would have come to nothing. For some things, she said in mellow tones, were not meant to be, and for the brothers to remain in Doriath could not be accepted. And then her face softened for a moment, and she placed her hand upon Galadriel's hair with the briefest of gentle sighs. "And yet," said she, "I know that the blood my husband would place on their hands is on yours, for I have seen long in your heart the dark memories. I doubted oft whether you would be suited to the role which you would taken upon yourself, and you have proven yourself worthy to stand tall among any of the nobility of Endor. Your brothers must find their own paths. Have peace, Princess, if you may, though with all your tears you would wash away your sorrows. You have your own burdens to bear."

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The story of the Kinslaying spread through Doriath then, wild and unchecked, though at least it must be said for the Elves that they did not embellish it in its passing as Men were wont to do with their own stories. Most of the whispers of blame were turned towards Fëanor's followers, in truth, for they had been the ones called the First Host, and Fëanor was oft blamed for the rebellion in the West. And though the Second Host and the children of Finfarfin who had led it were not so much blamed, the stories of the flight of the Noldor could not now be suppressed, and the tales of the Silmarils and of the Hastanovàrien alike could not be suppressed.

It was only then that the Noldor perhaps realised the greatness of what they had bought upon themselves, for in their fear they had not fully thought of the ages to come. Like children they were then, though they have not been called such since for it seems that their wisdom has greatly surpassed that of Men, and they are full grown in mind just at the point at which they leave Endor for the last time. And Galadriel among them felt the pain of separation from her homeland and from her brothers as they were cast back to their Kingdoms, and this as much else that occurred assisted in this growth, and Celeborn stood strong beside her despite the wariness of the other Elves of Doriath. But in time she earnt their trust again, as they had trusted both her and her brothers before; yet now they feared the latter, and for a time it seemed that she would be shunned with them.

But years passed, and the Elven Kingdoms prospered, for though the Kinslaying was never forgotten, it was held that never in Endor had elf turned against elf, and so relations remained cordial. Galadriel would often travel to visit her brothers, even in the troubled northern lands that Angrod and Aegnor held against the darkness, but it was in the halls of Nargothrond that she found the greatest peace. For ever had she loved Finrod best among her brothers, and he of all of them had most often talked with her of Endor and the lands there, though he had not shared her ambition. Nargothrond was Finrod's hidden kingdom, that much was true, but Orodreth also held power there, and oft it was the latter who thought more of the interests of the kingdom whilst Finrod reached out to the other lands. Galadriel grew to find solace in the caverns of Nargothrond, more lofty and less dark than those of Menegroth, and more forgiving also. But always her heart remained in Doriath, for there could she find not only the caverns but the trees, and could walk in both the sunlight and the moonlight as the years passed on.


End file.
